


I Bet You Look Good On the Dancefloor

by megyal



Category: Fall Out Boy, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-11-03
Updated: 2006-11-03
Packaged: 2017-10-27 04:45:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/291757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megyal/pseuds/megyal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>By the way, the image in my head of Harry and Draco I got from <a href="http://lillithium.livejournal.com/36453.html">here</a>, at <span><a href="http://lillithium.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://lillithium.livejournal.com/"><b>lillithium</b></a></span>'s LJ (scroll down a little).</p>
    </blockquote>





	I Bet You Look Good On the Dancefloor

**Author's Note:**

> By the way, the image in my head of Harry and Draco I got from [here](http://lillithium.livejournal.com/36453.html), at [](http://lillithium.livejournal.com/profile)[**lillithium**](http://lillithium.livejournal.com/) 's LJ (scroll down a little).

The Glasgow show had been really good, and Patrick found that he liked Scottish people. They weren't overly screamy, and they gave him space when he and Pete stumbled into this dark club on some adorable cobbled-road. They probably didn't know who they were in this place. That was a good thing.

The club was darkly thick with smoke and people (mainly guys. Did Pete have a radar for these things?), and Patrick made a face at Pete, who was looking around with an eager expression. Then again, most of Pete's expressions were eager. Eager to shout; eager to make money; eager to fuck somebody or fuck them up. It all filtered down to the same thing.

He felt unnaturally unbalanced and tottered around tables of chattering people while Pete went to get some drinks, wincing at the house-band that struck a minor key when obviously a major would have done much better, and promptly bumped against a table. Of _course_ he had spilt someone's drink, but when he turned and peered in the gloom, the table-surface was completely dry.

"Do be careful," someone drawled. Patrick had always read about people drawling, but he had never heard it before, and looking at the guy that spoke, Patrick doubted that he could talk in any other way. He had never seen such a constantly haughty expression on a face. This guy was as pale as _he_ was, skin set off starkly against a black turtle-necked sweater, with a smooth fall of light-blond hair brushing against his lashes. Patrick suddenly liked his eyes, very much, even though they were cool and hard. They were a pale grey, the same colour that Patrick's went into if there was the right light, and he was in a good mood. He felt slightly inelegant in his jacket and jeans.

"Draco." The person sitting beside Mr. Chill was also dressed in black, an oxford shirt carelessly opened at the neck, and when Patrick looked in his face, he found another set of eyes to like. Even though the place was dim, he could see the snapping green tones behind small glasses, lighter and rounder than Patrick's, and they were sharp and unwavering. He flicked them to the blond in some sort of stern warning, and then looked up back at Patrick, smiling a little. "Hey. Have a seat?"

Patrick took the seat that he pushed out with his foot, and the green-eyed guy, who had hair as dark as Pete's that flickered around his head, reached out his hand politely.

"I'm Harry. This is Draco. He's an asshole, but I can't do anything about that."

The blond, Draco (what the _hell_ kind of name was that?), scowled magnificently as Harry and Patrick laughed, but he shook Patrick's hand with all the grace of a royal. Maybe he was some sort of duke, Patrick mused, and told them his name. Pete finally located him and slammed down some harmless drink before him, taking the remaining seat.

"And this is Pete," Patrick said drily, watching in amusement as Pete eyed Draco with interest. Draco actually sniffed at him, but Harry's face lit up.

"Yeah. Yeah, you blokes are in the band we were supposed to see tonight." He shot a look at Draco, who suddenly found the walls to be highly interesting. "We would have made it, too, if _someone_ hadn't insisted on giving detention to a whole class of students."

"They were being imbecilic," Draco snapped, and Patrick's keen ears fell totally in love with the clipped British accent. "I will not have children trying to melt my classroom."

"You guys are teachers?" Pete said incredulously, and Patrick sort of understood why, because they looked kinda..well, _young_. That wasn't a good excuse, because they were probably just a little younger than Pete. A better one was that they were _hot_. Draco looked offended at the use of the word _teachers_.

"Yes," Harry supplied, obviously kicking Draco under the table before he opened his mouth. "He's...a chemistry professor."

"And," Draco put in, grey eyes gleaming sly humour. " _He's_ just the gym instructor. All brawn and no brains, you see?"

Harry kicked him so hard the table shook, but this seemed to put Draco in a better mood. He asked Pete to dance. Patrick and Harry watched them slink around the packed dancefloor, noting that both Pete and Draco seemed to have the same dominant attitude to basically _everything_ , so much so that people actually made way for them. They moved with sensual grace against each other, Draco's taller frame leaning back a little and hips pushing, grinding, promising. It was arousing to watch, to say the very least. Patrick sighed slowly, his seat pushed closer to Harry's in order to watch them, and he felt a sharp huff of air near his face as Harry did the same.

"You mind if I smoke?" Harry struck a match while Patrick was shaking his head, and as the flame lit up his face, Patrick noticed a pale scar trying to hide among the unruly strands covering his forehead. He peered at it, and Harry pulled away a little, a small wry smile on his lips as smoke curled from between them.

"War-wound," he said flatly, and Patrick frowned a bit.

"What, Iraq?"

Harry looked at him steadily, not even moving his eyes as he turned his head a little to exhale some more smoke. The clear green went dark and pained, and Patrick could have kicked himself as hard as Harry had been kicking Draco.

"Yeah. Something like that."

*

Patrick finally managed to get Harry out on the dancefloor, not because he was any great shakes for shaking his booty, but because he was a little tired of watching Draco and Pete practically mauling each other out there, and the look in Harry's eyes had been calm, but unsettlingly distant. Harry was as tall as Draco, which meant he towered a whole head over Patrick, but he laughed when Patrick took his hand in an absurdly old-fashioned manner and they marched back and forth in a parody of the samba, complete with turning sharply at one wall, snapping around to grasp the other hands and marching back to the other end. Harry even dipped Patrick, and they both were giggling by the time Patrick was swung back up. Harry bent his head suddenly, and placed a quick kiss on Patrick's cheek.

"Thanks," he chuckled. "That was fantastic."

"Harry James _Potter_." The hiss behind them was low and menacing, and Harry made a long-suffering face as Patrick peeked over his shoulder into the livid visage of Draco. "You _bastard_."

"Relax, Malfoy," Harry said, rolling his eyes and releasing Patrick. He winked, and then turned around swiftly, grabbing at the other man before he could escape. Draco cursed at him, but Harry held on with a sort of grim delight and buried his face in the pale curve of Draco's neck. Whatever he was doing, he did it good, because Draco's body seemed to go into a sort of meltdown. When Harry pulled back, the cool grey eyes had gone wide and dazed.

"Home. Now," he muttered, and Harry barely had time to grin at Patrick and tell him it was nice to meet him before Draco dragged him out of the club. Pete flounced up and pouted at Patrick.

"He rushed off so fast when he saw you groping, dude. Didn't you ever hear of OPP?"

"Yeah, you know me," Patrick answered automatically, and Pete laughed as they started to exit.

"You know what he said to me, 'Rick?" Pete chattered on, and Patrick smiled at him indulgently. "He said I did fine for a muggle. What the hell is a muggle?"

"Someone short, yet sweet?" Patrick guessed, and Pete leered at him as they made their way back to the bus. Pete would later insist to Joe and Andy that when they were passing by an alley, he heard a sharp snapping sound, like a large branch breaking, and he just _knew_ he saw something simply disappear.

They all told him to stop taking so much Ambien.


End file.
